Recovery 6 of 52
by Echowarrior
Summary: As the Autobots and Decepticons begin to accept the harshness of this new war, Jetfire discovers a grave threat to Cybertron and the Transformer civilization.
1. Chapter 1

Recovery

A Transformers: Armada Story

By William Rendfeld

The Earth, a shimmering sphere in the void of space. A shining blue world, teaming with life and energy. Unbeknownst to the majority of its inhabitants, the human race, they are no longer alone. The Transformers have arrived.

* * *

"Sir, we're receiving transmission."

"Bring it up, Scattorshot," Jetfire ordered.

The projector in front of the Autobot sub-commander crackled to life as the image of his commander, Optimus Prime, came into full view.

"This is Autobot commander Optimus Prime," the image stated. "Included with this transmission are current mission status and key combat data. Next transmission scheduled in 336 megacycles with next alignment."

Optimus's visage disappeared as data scrawled across the screen in his place. "Nice chatting with you too, sir," Jetfire noted dismally as he looked over the data.

* * *

The repair bay was silent, save for the light chiming of the status monitor. Within the repair bay, Longarm remained silent, inert on the cold bit of metal.

"I've been able to repair the physical damage," Red Alert reported at last to Optimus Prime and Sparkplug from within the observation room. "Thankfully, none of Longarm's vital parts were damaged in the struggle. His body is fine, and his spark hasn't suffered any clear damage."

"Then why is he still in stasis?" Sparkplug asked, the concern clear in his voice.

Red Alert looked towards the inert Mini-Con and sighed. "I honestly don't know. I've done everything I could think of, and then some. It's up to him now."

"He'll be fine, Red," Optimus noted in reassurance. "He's not one to just give up."

"Some things you can't help, Optimus," Red Alert noted.

* * *

Elsewhere, Starscream silently walked the halls of the _Nemesis_, going over the current situation in his head. Their latest recovery mission had somewhat worked out in their favor; out of six Mini-Cons, three were in the hands of the Decepticons, while the remaining three were in the hands of the Autobots.

However, that was only the good news; one of the three Mini-Cons recovered by the Autobots was in critical condition, injured by one of the three recovered by his 'allies'. And those three were the Destruction Team, led by one of the most canny Mini-Cons on Cybertron; Dualor. Unfortunately, he also happened to be one of the most ruthless, as well as the kind of Mini-Con that would sacrifice Vector Sigma if it meant survival for himself and his unit.

It was perfectly reasonable to make sacrifices for the greater good, but there are limits to what should and should not be sacrificed. He needed to be reminded of what was at stake, as well as the wisdom of keeping himself in line.

* * *

On Cybertron, Jetfire silently walked. He was deep beneath the surface of the planet, moving through one of its many tunnels and substructures, walking a path he had walked many times, one which, to a select few Transformers, never required a map.

At last, he reached his destination, and a voice greeted him. "You seem troubled, young one. Enter and speak of your ills."

Standing before him, in the shadow of a massive spherical computer core, was one of the most revered Transformers in existence; a living example of what existed before war and destruction spread across the surface. His armor, a pristine white and devoid of the familiar faction symbols that had long divided Cybertron's people, spoke of his age, and of his strength. As the ancient Transformer turned to face him, Jetfire nodded his head in respect and said, "Thank you, Vector Prime. I have been troubled lately."

"You worry for your brothers, and for their mission," Vector Prime noted. "It is natural; they are on a world where we are unknowns, facing uncertainty at every level. But it is not the mission that worries you; it is the fact that you are not there to aid him."

"Optimus is the leader," Jetfire replied. "Always has been, always will be. I feel better being by his side, having his guidance."

"Leadership is hardly a quality exclusive to a Prime, young one," the elder Transformer noted. "You are as capable a leader as he, as you have proven time and time again. You are not his direct second-in-command, nor his aerospace commander, simply because of your courage and bravery. Should he require your presence on his mission, you will be made aware."

Jetfire turned away, still clouded by concern, when the elder Transformer continued, "They are aware by now, you know."

Jetfire turned back and asked, "They? You mean Primus knows?"

"He may rest, Jetfire, but his perception remains clear," Vector Prime replied. "But he is not alone in his knowledge of the mission. The other is aware."

Jetfire's optics widened as he realized just what the elder meant, then said, "What should we do? If he...?"

"His target is Cybertron, not Earth," Vector Prime replied. "He will eliminate his greatest obstacles before he deals with the lesser ones. For now, you must keep this from the general population. Inform those in high places; the Decepticon High Command, the Colonial Governments, those under your authority and equal to it. We must remain ever-watchful; just as we are agents of Primus, so are there agents of the Dark God."

Jetfire nodded, and said at last, "My thanks, Vector Prime. Until next we meet."

"Until then," Vector Prime replied.

Jetfire then exited, moving swiftly with urgency and purpose. Vector Prime, meanwhile, looked upwards toward the spherical computer system above him. Its activity had been increasing lately; the time they had been dreading was coming at last. Were they ready? Even he was uncertain of the answer.

* * *

"So, how's he taking it?" Smokescreen asked as he and the Mini-Con Liftor stood watch outside the _Ark_ shuttle.

"Not too good," Liftor replied. "He's been through some tough scrapes, Smokes. You know that as well as anyone. But he could've survived something like that; Longarm's the one we aren't sure about."

"He'll get through it," Smokescreen assured the smaller Transformer. "I've worked with Red for ages. He's worked miracles worthy of one of the thirteen in his day for total strangers, and Longarm was his partner through it all. If he can't save him, no one can."

"And if he doesn't?" Liftor asked.

Smokescreen remained silent for a moment, then said, "I'd rather not think about that."

* * *

Elsewhere, Diana Masters silently worked in her apartment, going over everything for the rest of her week. As soft jazz music lightly played in the background, her eyes drifted over her notes; Greek architecture, government, drama...and she had to shorten it down as much as possible in the next two weeks before the field trip.

As Diana huffed, a soft 'meow' issued from near her feet. She looked down and smiled to find an orange-striped cat gently rubbing against her leg. "Easy there, Abby," Diana noted as she gently picked the cat up in one arm and walked over to her small kitchenette. She pulled out a can of cat food and opened it, gently scooping it into a small bowl for her cat. As Abby silently ate her food, the phone rang.

"Hello?" Diana replied. "Oh, Miranda, hi. How are things going at your end? The kids okay?" She huffed slightly, then noted, "Well, I'm glad something nice is happening to someone in my life." She plopped down onto a recliner and noted, "Being a middle school teacher is nothing impressive, sis. I would've been better off sticking with studying archaeology in college and getting my doctorate." With a light smirk, she looked through some of her notes on the Transformers and added, "I'm not saying it hasn't been without its perks. Still, I'll be glad for the next vacation." She sighed, and promised, "Yes, I'll visit when I can. Tell Kicker and Sally that their auntie loves them. Bye."

She clicked off the phone, then looked over her notes. "Well Kelly, you wanted me to get more into my life than just anime and history. Bet you didn't see this coming."

* * *

"Since the battles against the Quintessons and their forces, the Transformers have been involved in some form of conflict," Dualor noted to his compatriots. "And the Mini-Cons have always been at the forefront of the conflict, either independently or with the others. They control us, 'bots; in their own way they manipulate and use us for their own ends. I intend to end it once and for all, whatever the consequences."

"But what about the legends?" Buzzsaw asked. "I mean, so many believe them. There's got to be some truth..."

"Legends are just that, Buzzsaw; legends," Dualor swiftly reprimanded his comrade as the door behind them slid open. "There's no truth to anything they claim, despite whoever supports them. And the instant I begin believing in legends is the day Cybertron is destroyed."

"That may very well happen," a familiar voice noted in a serious tone.

The three members of the Destruction Team looked up to find Starscream standing above them, his face displaying the utmost level of seriousness.

"Dualor, you and I have much to discuss," the Decepticon noted.

"Really, Starscream?" Dualor asked. "Come to tell me that I should follow Megatron without a word? That I should play by his rules, do things his way?"

"For the time being, yes," Starscream replied. "Because the last time I checked, he placed as much value on other lives, if not less, than you do. The major difference, however, is that he has far greater power to call upon than you could ever hope to have at your disposal."

"Is that a threat, Starscream?" Dualor asked as Drill Bit tensed himself up for a fight. "Several million years have changed you."

"Not a threat, simply a statement of fact," Starscream replied. "Watch where you step, or you and your team could very well end up in the scrap heap. That's a possibility, and a slagging good one. Remember that."

Starscream stepped back from the door, allowing it to slide shut behind him, and leaving the Destruction Team to themselves. "You think that's a bluff?" Drill Bit asked his leader.

"Perhaps," Dualor noted, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "And perhaps not. Starscream is always a curious one..."

* * *

As Starscream walked away from the holding bay, he thought silently to himself over the Destruction Team. They'd all have to be careful around them; Megatron definitely, but he especially. He had barely begun putting things into place for his own coup against Megatron; the last thing he needed was to have someone figure out what he was doing, only to reveal things, or worse, double-cross him. They could be a useful diversion, but he knew Dualor too well to expect something like that to work out as he'd planned.

He may have to accelerate his timetable a bit.

* * *

"Of all the stupid, self-sacrificing idiots I end up being stuck with," Refute noted as he stood next to the off-line Longarm. "You've been around Red for ages, you know how we're made. I could've taken something like that easy, at least easier than you." He sighed, leaned against the table with both claws. "After everything we've been through, all the battles against the Quintessons and rebel Decepticons, the last thing I'd expect was one of our own taking you out. If you don't make it, I swear..."

Refute was lost in thought as a voice weakly asked, "Care to elaborate on that?" He looked in shock to find Longarm's optic bar lightly glowing.

Refute's expression softened as he said, "I'd give Drill Bit such a pounding that he'd think a moon landed on him." He took one of Longarm's hands in a claw and said, "Welcome back to us, Longarm."

* * *

"So, you think everything's okay?" Scattorshot asked nervously. "I mean, things have been a little too quiet lately."

"You need to lighten up, Scattorshot," Sideswipe told his comrade. "If something was going to happen, we'd know about it."

"Maybe I need to lighten up," Scattorshot called back, "and maybe you need to listen to your elders a little more. Something's happening, Sideswipe, I can feel it."

As if on cue, Jetfire walked into the communications bay and ordered, "Scattorshot, I need to get in touch with everyone. Lord Straxus, the colonial governments, all outlying ships, I need lines to all of them. Sideswipe, when's the next optimal time for a communication line to Earth?"

"Not for another thirteen breems," Sideswipe answered.

"I want a message prepped," Jetfire ordered. "Tell him that activity is increasing, and that someone else knows what's going on. Priority One, Sideswipe."

"Yes sir," Sideswipe replied as he readied the message. "Anything else?"

"Yeah," Jetfire replied. "Pray."

Jetfire exited, leaving the two communications officers alone with their thoughts. The two looked to one another before turning back to their consoles.

"I hate always being right," Scattorshot noted.

* * *

"While some of his memory banks have slight damage, Longarm's recovery is well underway," Red Alert reported at last. "Between that and the lack of Decepticon activity, I can't think of any better news."

"Neither can I," Optimus Prime noted as he looked out onto the landscape.

"Something bothering you?" Red asked.

"We're walking dangerous ground, Red," Optimus noted. "We were lucky with Longarm; how long until something worse happens?"

Red Alert remained silent for a moment before he replied, "I try my best not to think of it, Optimus. I advise the same to you."

Red exited the room, leaving his commander alone with his thoughts. As Optimus considered recent events, something caught his attention in the distance; a small flash of light. Something was out there.

His optics narrowed; things just became a little more interesting. And not the kind of interesting that he liked.

The End


	2. Chapter 1 ReEdit

Recovery

A Transformers: Armada Story

By William Rendfeld

The doors to the communications center hissed open, Jetfire entering quietly with optics barely hiding his worry and ignoring some of the curious looks from the other communication controllers. "Anything from the _Ark_, Scattorshot?"

"Sorry boss-bot, not a thing." The small blue Autobot slumped over his keyboard in frustration. While he wasn't created with a Mini-Con link or had ever gotten a specific partner, Scattorshot always found their help greatly appreciated, and enjoyed the occasional friendly banter with a few when updating the networks or hardware. "They've been quieter than a Nebulan funeral."

The Autobot Vice Commander hung his head softly. "I thought as much. Keep on it, alright?"

As their commander left, Sideswipe leaned closer. "I don't get it. Why can't Optimus get in touch with us? I mean, the humans don't have access to subspace communications, it's not like they can pick up on it."

"The humans can't, but there's always the chance that Megatron's bunch can," Scattorshot pointed out. "And until they can figure out a way to get in touch with us that doesn't make 'em pop up on the _Nemesis_' sensors, we ain't gonna hear squat from 'em."

The younger Autobot hummed thoughtfully. "I guess." He looked up at a monitor, trying to get back to his work, but a thought kept nagging at him. "You ever want to be out there, Scattorshot? On the front lines, I mean."

"Wanna be part of the action, huh?" At Sideswipe's eager nod, his senior shook his head. Although he carried some reasonable firepower, especially the modifiable missiles that he could fire from his shoulders, Scattorshot always preferred the tapping of keystrokes and coding lines. "Kid, you're better off here. There's no glory out on the front lines, just risk. Here you're safe… well, safer. Trust me, you'll see nothing but trouble out there."

* * *

The repair bay was silent, save for the light chiming of the status monitor. Resting upon one berth was the inert form of the Mini-Con Longarm, silent as his repair systems continued working. Normally, Red Alert found the silence of the repair bay calming. Now, however, the quiet filled him with dread more than solace.

A sour look on his face, the medic turned to face his commander. "I've been able to repair the physical damage – we're only fortunate that none of Longarm's vital components were seriously compromised and that the orbital bounce didn't make things worse. His body is fine, and his spark is intact."

"Then why is he still in stasis?" Sparkplug asked, the concern clear in his voice.

The medic looked towards the inert Mini-Con and couldn't help but sigh. There were so many possibilities as to why Longarm was still in stasis – psychological trauma seemed plausible, if unlikely, but it could very well be some other physical reason that he hadn't yet noticed. "I honestly don't know. I've done everything I could think of, and then some. It's up to him now."

A reassuring hand found itself upon his shoulder. "He'll be fine, Red. Longarm was never one to give up, and you've done more for him than anyone else could do for their partners." Optimus looked through the observation window. "Certainly more than I could do for any of mine."

As much as he appreciated the words of encouragement, the medic knew full well that he was no miracle worker. "Sometimes, that isn't nearly enough."

* * *

His footsteps echoing softly in the _Nemesis_' halls, Starscream silently went over the current situation in his head. Another escape pod from the _Exodus_ located, another group of Mini-Cons retrieved, and some measure of balance was maintained. Unfortunately, he'd ended up with the Destruction Team… and that was hardly anything to celebrate. It was bad enough he still didn't have a safe method of communication with the Autobots or his allies on Cybertron, now he had to deal with a potential problem on the inside.

The hatch to the Mini-Con chamber slid open before him, a familiar voice drifting out. "Since the battles against the Quintessons and their forces, the Transformers have been involved in some form of conflict, with the Mini-Cons always at the forefront of the fight, either independently or with the others. They control us, mechs – Autobots and Decepticons, with Megatron being the only one to be blunt about it. It has to end, and I intend to be the one to do it."

"Dualor, you haven't lost your gift for hyperbole." Wreckage's voice was only slightly reassuring. "Optimus didn't force us to leave, did he?"

"But it is thanks to him that Megatron hunts us now. Had he done what was necessary, we wouldn't be in this mess, now would we?" A few footsteps, and a change in tone. "Wreckage, you know that I speak the truth. Megatron must be stopped, no matter the cost."

"Even if we have to die for it to happen?"

Blackout's voice expanded on Bonecrusher's query. "Starscream was kind enough to fill us in on what happened to Longarm. If you're serious about stopping Megatron, work with him."

A derisive laugh from Drill Bit. "So we can get fragged over again? Please, one bulk's as bad as another, passing messages under the scanner and the like. We're better off with our own."

Silence held before the Land Military Team's leader spoke again, his tone brooking no argument. "Then you refuse to trust him. There's our problem – we refuse to trust you as well, especially given what happened to Longarm. Whatever you have planned, we want nothing of it."

A shuffling of feet, and then Dualor's voice. "Very well. You have every right to your decision. We'll have to make do without you."

Starscream stepped back away from the hatch. Dualor's plotting was no surprise – he'd always been one more interested in the survival of his people over that of others, no matter what means appeared necessary. Acceptable losses were not only expected, but apparently welcome. All this only validated his concerns – he'd have to keep a careful watch upon him.

Though the Seeker had to admit, their discussion had given him an idea…

* * *

Deep beneath Cybertron's surface laid a number of labyrinthine tunnels, stretching around and throughout the planet. Many assumed they were put in place as secondary access routes for the Quintessons, but no one knew exactly how they came to be, and despite hundreds of thousands of vorns living on the planet, its inhabitants only knew a fraction of the many tunnels cutting through it. Yet once a tunnel was learnt, it remained in their memory, and this one was particularly vivid in Jetfire's memory core.

After many cycles flying, passing by numerous defense turrets and silent Centurion drones that acknowledged his security signature, the Autobot reached his destination and landed. Before him stood a massive door, sealed to all save those who held the keys needed to gain entry. And while he didn't have the key, he had something better – the acquaintance of the one who guarded the door. After waiting patiently for a moment, heavy and ancient mechanisms began moving and a voice greeted him from within as the door slowly opened. "You seem troubled, young one. Enter and speak of your ills."

Standing before him, in the shadow of the massive spherical computer core suspended in midair known to all Transformers as Vector Sigma, was one of the most revered Cybertronians in existence: Vector Prime. He was a living example of what existed before war and destruction spread across the surface of their home planet, having been online far longer than even Jetfire and his kin. His armor, a pristine white and maroon, was devoid of the familiar faction symbols that had long divided Cybertron's people, decorated with ornate bronze markings that suggested the gears and workings of a clock, and spoke of his age and strength. As the ancient flyer turned to face him, the younger Autobot bowed in respect. "Thank you, Vector Prime. I have been troubled lately."

"You worry for your brothers, and for their mission." The older Prime smiled as he put down his stylus, being one of the few that enjoyed writing things out instead of typing. "It is natural; they are on a world where we are unknowns, facing uncertainty at every level and with many lives hanging in the balance. But it is not the mission that worries you; it is the fact that you are not there to aid him."

A nod from the shuttle. "Optimus is the leader – always has been, always will be. As capable as I am, I feel a lot better being by his side."

"Leadership is hardly a quality exclusive to a Prime, young one. You are as capable a leader as he is, as you have proven time and time again. You are not his direct second-in-command, nor his aerospace commander, simply because of your courage and bravery. Should he require your presence on his mission, you will be made aware." He turned to face the glowing sphere, blue wings twitching briefly before tucking closer to his body. "And I suspect it will be soon. We are not the only ones aware of the Mini-Cons' revival."

"Wait, hold it… You don't mean Primus, do you?"

"He may rest, Jetfire, but his perception remains clear." A grave tone entered Vector Prime's voice, gazing at something beyond Jetfire's perception for a moment. "But he is not the one I am concerned by. If Primus is aware, I've little doubt that Unicron is also." Before the younger flyer could interrupt, he raised a hand. "There is no point in making the general population aware – Unicron's coming is still far in coming. For now, we need to alert those in places of power. The Council, the Decepticon High Command, the colonial governments, those under your command and Optimus once possible must all be informed. For now, vigilance is our best asset." The elder mech beckoned back to the entryway. "Go – you have much to do, and little time to do it."

"That's the understatement of the stellar cycle." Jetfire gave a nod. "Thanks, Vector. Until we meet again."

The ancient nodded back in return, and the Autobot second departed, transforming to vehicle mode as he went. Vector Prime watched him depart briefly, before turning back to look upwards at the spherical computer system above him. Its activity had been increasing lately; the time they had been dreading was coming at last. The question now became, would they be ready?

* * *

"So, how do you think Refute's taking it?"

"Not too good." Liftor shook his head with a groan from his perch upon the _Ark_'s operations console. Where most of the newer ships were very much standard in terms of design on space efficiency, ships that were constructed prior to the Mini-Cons' exodus had ladders built into the walls and table legs as well equipped with hover platforms that allowed them to access tables or consoles more easily. "He's been through some tough scrapes, Smokes. You know that as well as anyone. But he could've survived something like that. Longarm's the one we aren't sure about."

A smile spread across the orange Autobot's face. "He'll get through it. I've worked with Red for ages. Between his stint in the Cybertron Defense Force and his time in the Medical Corps, he's worked miracles worthy of the First Thirteen for total strangers. He won't do any less for Longarm."

"Well, that I'm not debating." The Mini-Con forklift propped his chin on a hand as a thought crossed his processor. "Speaking of the CDF, what happened to it after we left?"

"It fell apart." Optimus replied as he took a seat at the communications console. While other leaders in his position would be towering or looming over their subordinates and the Mini-Cons during meetings, either physically or simply by their presence, Prime preferred sitting down whenever possible as a form of courtesy for his smaller kin unless forced otherwise. "The Cybertron Defense Force was set up to promote cooperation among the three factions and be our frontline defense following the Outsider Wars. After Megatron's insurrection and the Mini-Con exodus, the organization came apart – no Mini-Cons and limited Decepticon membership led to resignations and it being derided as the Autobot Elite Guard. Now all that's left is serving as point defense on Nebulos." He expelled a sigh. "Red was among the first to resign after restrictions were put in to increase difficulty for Decepticon membership. It was done with the best of intentions, but…"

"It caused more problems than it solved." Liftor shook his head uneasily. "I'm starting to get why humans say those things are used to pave the road to Hell, wherever that is."

A small chime sounded off from the communications console, prompting Prime's attention and raising an arched optic ridge. "We have an incoming transmission, audio only. And it's so far on the lower band, the subspace transceiver's having difficulty picking it up."

"Hang on, boosting power." Smokescreen tapped out several commands at his console, letting the others listen in.

The message was barely audible, but they could just hear it. _:"Repeat, the suns shine over Iacon, and darkness holds over Kaon.":_

"But that is the way of things," Optimus finished, relaxing minutely. "Starscream. How are you talking with us?"

_:"We've shut down systems and limited power as best we can in order to preserve our energon supplies, including to our subspace monitors. Use a low enough frequency, and you just slip under the monitored bandwidth.":_ The Autobot leader could almost see the satisfied smile on his brother's face. _:"This should allow us to communicate with one another, and for us to get word back to Cybertron.":_

A laugh from Smokescreen. "Why didn't we think of that?"

"We were slightly more worried about optimal solar collection." Optimus turned his attention back to the communications channel. "My thanks. How are things up there?"

_:"For the time being, stable, but I don't expect that to last with Dualor active up here. I'm afraid we aren't too popular with him.":_

No surprise there. "So I've gathered. Will this change your plans any?"

_:"Some. I've decided to speed up my timetable. No offense to them, but I need an ally up here that isn't a Mini-Con.":_

"Good luck. For the time being, we'll try to make your job a little easier. Contact us when you can." The signal cut off, and the Autobot leader turned to his subordinate. "Frequency logged in the computer?"

"Logged and recorded. Want to try calling home?"

A glint in Optimus' optic indicated a smile. "What do you think?"

* * *

Soft jazz music lightly playing in the background, Diana silently worked in her apartment, going over everything for the rest of her week. Eyes drifted over notes – Greek architecture, government, drama… and she had to shorten it down as much as possible in the next two weeks before the field trip. A daunting task, but one that she figured could be done.

As she continued, a soft 'meow' issued from near her feet. She looked down and smiled to find an orange-striped cat gently rubbing against her leg. "Easy there, Abby." She gently picked the cat up in one arm and walked over to her small kitchenette – there was only one good reason for a feline to attract their person's attention after all, and that was a can of cat food in her bowl. As Abby happily ate her meal, the phone rang.

"Hello?" A smile crossed her face on recognizing the voice at the other end of the line. "Miranda, hi! How are things going at your end? The kids okay?" She huffed slightly at the response while plopping onto her couch. "Well, I'm glad something nice is happening to someone in my life. Being a middle school teacher is nothing impressive, sis. The sooner my doctorate comes in, the better." With a light smirk, she looked through some of her notes on the Autobots. "I'm not saying it hasn't been without its perks. Still, I'll be glad for the next vacation." She sighed, and promised, "Yes, I'll visit when I can. Tell Kicker and Sally that their auntie loves them. Bye."

Turning off her phone, Diana returned to looking over her notes, especially the ones on her new robotic friends. "Well Kelly, you wanted me to get more into my life than just anime and history. Bet you didn't see this coming."

* * *

"So this is how it all ends, me stuck in here with one of you Autobot drones. Expect me to spill my secrets? Tell you where to find Lord Megatron? Betray my few free allies? Well, guess what – it isn't happening! What do you have to say to that?" Fracture nearly all but screamed.

As if startled out of a dream, Nightbeat looked up, his optic band resetting. "I'm sorry, did you say something?"

Her optics looked even more baffled, thanks to the domino mask outline around them when she stared at her interrogator. "What kind of interrogation is this? No 'good cop bad cop', no questions, no perp leaking?"

The Autobot raised a finger to punctuate his counterpoints. "It's not an interrogation. If it was an interrogation, you wouldn't be asking questions. Seeing as you're asking questions and you're the prisoner, this isn't an interrogation, it's a conversation." A thought coming to him, and he amended, "Actually, until I started talking, it wasn't a conversation. It was a monologue. Interesting, that."

The femme shook her head. "And they say I'm insane."

"No, being insane is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. You did the same thing over and over – smashing up roads and buildings – and expected the same result – destruction and getting away afterwards without being caught. That isn't insanity, that's being predictable. It also lends itself towards the whole thing for your group, the Crashers. For all the destruction the lot of you caused, none of you ever did any permanent damage." He leaned forward. "Now, you guys are supporting Megatron. He killed Jhiaxus. That's pretty permanent damage, last I checked. So now, the conversation becomes an interrogation, and I ask the question: why support the mech who killed the single most popular leader the Decepticons ever had?" Waiting a pause and not bothering to wait for an answer, he stood up and walked out of the room. "Think it over. The bad cop's on his way."

The door to the interrogation room slid shut behind him, and the Autobot detective found himself confronted with Kup. "You're just leaving her in there?"

"Getaway couldn't get out of those stasis cuffs. She'll be fine."

"And you're asking her _that_ question?"

The younger mech cocked his head. "Well, don't you want to know the answer to that question?"

The old Autobot couldn't help but facepalm. As good as he was, Nightbeat was almost the prime example of unorthodox, bordering on the eccentric. Nonetheless, both Checkpoint and Bumblebee tolerated his eccentricities because he was an excellent investigator and often a good interrogator. Aside from that, Kup didn't have a choice. For now, he was stuck with him. "You aren't even going to point out that one of her mechs is dead? Or ask where the rest of her group is?"

"I think she's already firmly aware that Wildrider blew himself up rather than get brought in – she saw it, after all. And as for the rest of her group, well, most of them are here, aside from the aforementioned Wildrider. The only ones still on the loose are Ransack and Crumplezone, and I'm sure Gasket can chase them down easily enough."

A huff. "Fine, whatever." He glanced through the one-way mirror and asked, "So, you think she knows anything about where the rest of the 'Cons are?"

"Nope, but she might be able to tell us where Ransack and Crumplezone could be." At Kup's annoyed expression, the detective noted, "Hey, just because Atlas hates small victories doesn't mean I don't."

The veteran soldier expelled his vents in exasperation before being interrupted by his communicator. "Hound, you'd better have either Hardhead or Onslaught with you because after another minute, Fracture won't be the only one needing restraint."

_:"Sorry Kup, no luck. Something else has come up – we've got a disturbance near the sun. Sending feed down to you.":_

As Kup moved to the monitor, Nightbeat quirked an optic ridge. "Solar disturbance? It's way too early for that star to go nova, and they aren't gonna bug you over a solar flare."

The old commander of the CDF watched the feed, his optics widening as the footage continued. "That isn't a solar flare. I've seen hundreds of solar flares, twenty supernovas, and six Jovian collisions – this ain't any of those." As Nightbeat approached, the old veteran pointed at the anomaly in disbelief. "I've never seen anything like this before."

On the screen, it looked as if something began to emerge from the sun, something massive, solid, and unnatural…

* * *

"Of all the stupid, self-sacrificing idiots I end up being stuck with." Refute's optics were narrow as he stood next to the off-line Longarm. As glad as he was that Red Alert had finally allowed visitors, despite limiting them to 15 Earth minutes, he couldn't help but be frustrated with the unconscious Mini-Con. "You've been around Red for ages, you know how we're made. I could've taken something like that easy, at least easier than you." He sighed and leaned back against an inactive manipulator arm, trying not to remember the horrible screeching of the drill going through Longarm's chest. "After everything we've been through, all the battles against the Quintessons and rebel Decepticons, the last thing I'd expect was for one of our own taking you out. If you don't make it, I swear…"

The old soldier grew lost in thought as a voice weakly asked, "Care to elaborate on that?" He looked in shock to find Longarm's optic bar coming online, the Mini-Con beginning to face him.

Refute's expression softened as he said, "I'd give Drill Bit such a pounding that he'd think a moon landed on him." He took one of Longarm's hands in a claw and squeezed gently. "Welcome back, buddy."

"It's good to be back." He glanced up to see another familiar face looking down over him. "Hello old friend."

For the first time all day, Red Alert smiled. The silence was broken, the dread gone, and hopefully, he wouldn't be dealing with this again anytime soon.

* * *

Jetfire marched into the communications room, the doors sliding open only barely fast enough to keep up and from clipping his wings. "Scattorshot, I need to get in touch with everyone. Lord Straxus, the colonial governments, all outlying ships, I need lines to all of them, now."

Surprised by his superior's sudden orders, the small blue Autobot nonetheless complied. "On it right now, boss-bot. What's all this about?"

"Something big's coming up, and the sooner everyone's in the loop, the…" A chirp sounded, forcing Jetfire to hold back the harried sound he was going to make. "What now?"

Sideswipe glanced over his console and had to reboot his optics to make sure he was processing what he saw correctly. "We've got a message coming in from the _Ark_. Audio only and on a low band frequency, but authenticated."

"Perfect timing. Bring it up." The Autobot Vice Commander stepped towards the console. "Optimus?"

_:"Jetfire, I'm glad this worked. We're beaming vital updates on our efforts here on Earth via a sub-channel. So far so good, but we've barely gotten started. How are things on Cybertron?":_

"Starting to get a lot more interesting than I'd like, but hearing you is making things a lot less worrisome. Optimus, I've just been in touch with Vector Prime, and he thinks we aren't the only ones to pick up on the Mini-Cons, aside from Megatron's group. I'm getting in touch with everyone now, but the sooner we get them all found, the better."

_:"Agreed. Keep us posted.":_

The transmission ceased as Sideswipe decoded the packet. "We've got the info they beamed. Three pods found so far, but they've still got a ways to go."

"Well, we've got our own problems." Jetfire turned back to Scattorshot. "How soon until we get that signal out?"

"Just give me a couple more nano-kliks, and we'll have it." The little Autobot grew more nervous with each passing second. "Mind tellin' us what all the urgency's about?"

The aerial second-in-command didn't want to acknowledge the creeping dread in his spark but there was no denying the feeling. "Trust me, you don't want to know."

* * *

"While some of his memory banks have slight damage, namely his short-term memory, Longarm's recovery is well underway." To say the medic was pleased would be an understatement. While patients suffering from such damage would still require a careful watch, short-term memory issues for Cybertronians were not as difficult to overcome as they were for humans, being that the neural pathways would eventually reform. Given that Longarm was his partner and would be spending most of his time either with Red or with his fellow Mini-Cons, that supervision wouldn't be a problem. "Between that and the lack of Decepticon activity, I can't think of any better news."

"Neither can I." Optimus looked out the port, hands clasped behind his back. Smokescreen was on guard duty watching the ship's external sensors, Scavenger and Rollbar were outside on scout patrol with Hot Shot, Blurr, and Jolt, while the rest of the Mini-Cons were taking a well deserved recharge (after a little bingeing on energon to celebrate Longarm's recovery). All in all, a welcome rest cycle. "Still, I can't help but be concerned. We were lucky with Longarm. How long until something worse happens?"

Red Alert bowed his head a bit. "I try my best not to think of it, Optimus. I advise the same to you."

The medic exited the room, leaving his commander alone with his thoughts. As Optimus considered recent events, something caught his attention in the distance: a tiny flash of light. His optics narrowed, realizing that something was out there. Things had just become a little more interesting, and he suspected that he wouldn't like where they ended up.

The End


End file.
